


this day of childhood

by lysitheas



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: And no major character deaths, Angst, Bit of a backstory for Camilla, Canon Compliant, Childhood Trauma, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fire Emblem Fates: Revelation Spoilers, Mentions of Violence and Death, Worldbuilding, but nothing too major, lots of trauma, might focus on trauma in an accompanying fic, mix of both lol, or established, this fic is more focused on emotions tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25661548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysitheas/pseuds/lysitheas
Summary: Camilla feels the dreaded headache and memories of her childhood descend upon her on this passing day. Ryoma aims to solve her ailment and learn the reasons.
Relationships: Camilla/Ryoma (Fire Emblem)
Kudos: 27





	this day of childhood

Camilla silently willed the headache that had been building in her head from the beginning of the council to take its leave of her. It was always this day of the year that a headache took possession of her, nearly so painful that all she hoped to do was wallow in the depths of sleep in attempts to make off with the wretched pain. Though she cannot allow the sweetness of sleep to claim her, especially not during a war council, and an expression of neutrality even more difficult to maintain with the pain managing to press against each and every inch of her face. Ever the collected First Princess of Nohr, well known for her cold nature that could freeze even the strongest of hearts with her gaze, Camilla allowed not a second of weakness to shine through her carefully constructed armor.

Perhaps those of less observant natures would have not taken notice of the ailment that she took great care into concealing away from her fellow siblings as well as the royalty of Hoshido in attendance with them and the accompanying retainers. It was first the eyes of Xander that bore into her, taken in by his keen observation as they listen to the suggestions for battle arrangements and formations, though his worry is almost an instinct natural to him. He well understands the meaning of this specific day and the significance it has held upon her life throughout all of these years.

Camilla could not be of more relief once she becomes free from his concerned laced mahogany eyes, his attentions turned to the discussion of battle, and no sight of his pity that is always alike a sword to her heart. But the relief dissipates within a moment as she realizes that she has caught the vision of the Crown Prince of Hoshido himself. He is a rival to her brother in terms of skills of observance and perspectiveness and unlike Xander, he knows not at all of the day’s meaning for her.

He is one to pursue such a subject once provided a chance.

And it is not like she could cut his pursuit short in semblance of ease, because she could not after all that has passed. He has pursued her in all manners of courtship, ever the proper gentleman doting upon the lady he desires to make his spouse (though she could hardly consider herself a lady). Though they had done so much more than the mere steps of courtship, they had began to undress themselves of the armor that disguised the truth of themselves, baring all secrets and insecurities within.

Though she has het to touch upon the secret of this day, a day that will be an everlasting ghost within her dreams.

Camilla meets his gaze with a smile that curves her lips, perhaps an ill acted gesture of assurance that likely does little to dissuade his worry. She feels not the saccharine sweetness she most often attaches to her smiles to the public and rather it is a smile that is felt from exhaustion, a rally against her pain. It is a smile that bears even more into her facade, a mask that she has worn since the times of her youth. She had never been a stranger to masking the truth of her emotions, even as a youthful child still clinging to the skirts of the maids, if it had meant ensuring her survival in a court where death was the norm.

Even in these moments among friends, family, and allies will she not take a stance of surrender, she is far too ingrained in this system her self-protection to loosen even an ounce of control.

“That concludes our council for the day if there is not another suggestion to be made.” Xander finished with the conclusions that had been agreed upon during the meeting, appearing to be taken with a state of exhaustion himself. Though there is no shock for the exhaustion that would claim them, as they are leading a war effort, and such a large undertaking would require the surge of energy through both physical and mental means. And if Camilla is truly honest with herself, then this day certainly did not contribute positively.

But what else is new for her?

Without a verbal comment to continue, both royalty and retainers alike raise from the discomfort of their crudely cut wooden chairs (their treasury severely dampened with the cost of war), a flutter of diverse voices beginning anew. Elise already has taken to little Sakura’ side in a display of joy, a stream of suggestions of activities for them to do filling her words.

Camilla cannot help the sigh that parts her mouth with the entrance of a gentle nostalgia within her, with the memories of a childhood long lost to her entering the corners of her mind.

There are very little memories in which Camilla would truly recall with genuine fondness, the earliest days of her youth before the bloodshed carved the family with its rivers of blood and her own hands stained with the crimson of victims. The happiness had not returned until she gained the strength to be both mother and protector to her remaining younger siblings, to ensure that they were not clasped by a fate stained with violence.

Even if that had meant undertaking the grimmest actions of them all.

The suddenness of words belonging to a foreign voice is enough to draw Camilla from the innermost state of her mind. “Lady Camilla, you appear unwell.”

She regrets even the briefest display of emotion as Ryoma peers down before her. Concern laces the warmth of his dark eyes and although she is much appreciative of his inquiry, she does not wish to involve him in the entanglement of her troubles. Well, mainly the troubles of her mind and memories. He remained ever regal, his armor of crimson shining even with the dulled flames of the candles and appearing every inch the king he would be. Though Camilla is taken with his arms, still bound with the armor, and reminded of the intimate times they had shared and the impossible desire to rely upon him as her protection for once.

“It has been an exhausting day, Lord Ryoma.” Her response is a mere murmur and she keeps as well to the formality that is a requirement for the public. Though she would ever bee the fool to believe if he were to fall for the lie so clear in her words.

“No.” The singular word of denial is firm, even if he means well. “This is something beyond exhaustion. I can read it in your eyes.” Ryoma then gestures for her to join him, perhaps on a walk or merely another place, to be stolen away from the council’s tent that is so public. We could discuss it more in the privacy of my quarters if you should so desire.”

“I…” Ultimately Camilla comes upon the realization that while she may deny the opportunity for the current moment, he’ll come to inquire about her state of mind and health again. It is a situation of prolonging the inevitable even if she is not quite opposed to the idea of refuge within the confines of his quarters. Besides, she should realize that he isn’t easy to change his mind once it is set and even less to accept any words opposite of the truth. “I accept your offer.” Her laugh is one befitting a princess of graciousness, the perfect image of a princess of Nohr as her mother taught her to be.

She knows not if Ryoma is aware of the cringe that just took her expression as he assists her in standing from the chair — the lack of cushioning providing no support to ease the headache that has plagued her.

“We are allies now. Anything to build the newfound friendship between Nohr and Hoshido.” The performed bow is quick and stiffened, as is customary of the Hoshidan style. Though the facade of formality is briefly lost, his lips trailing against the soft skin of her fingers, a kiss that is intimate in nature rather than a kiss meant for greeting a lady of high status.

Certainly her mother had never taught her of such displays of passion. She had determined to a marriage of arrangement, lackluster without the colors of love, were she unable to secure the throne through the use of her daughter.  
“You perform your duties quite well. Though I also do hope that it is done more than just out of a sense of your duty.

“Of course, Lady Camilla. I could never imagine diminishing you to merely fulfilling my duty. You are worth so much more.”

Much unlike her mother, who had treated her and her twin as pawns to be used in her game for power and revenge. Her brother at the least had taken the inheritance of her legendary skills with magic and gifted more than a mere courteous thought. It had been likely that he would have come to wield Brynhildr himself instead of dear Leo had he not been slain at such a youthful age.

The quarters belonging to Ryoma — or rather personal tent most specifically — is situated at the center of the combined camps of the Nohrians and the Hoshidans. It is a walk of five minutes, the night’s air a pleasant coolness against her skin and ever careful not to dirty her skirts with the mud that features prominently upon the ground because of the torrent of rains of the previous nights. It is the awareness of a perfected princess. Or so her mother would say.

“You first, as always.” The silence of their journey is broken with his words of greeting as they stand before the drapes of scarlet detailed with designs of silver and white, the opulence an indication of his position as leader of the Hoshidans. An armor clad hand brought forward an opening of the drapes, allowing her entrance into the privacy of the crown prince.

She is much too taken with the pounding of her headache against her forehead to indulge herself in the observation of the extravagance that is abundant about the his tent. She all but sits upon the edge of the bed that is tucked into the corner of the tent, its lush coverings ever soft and would have been soothing if she had not been cursed by this damned headache. Once more her head is cradled in her hands, a silent plea for the pain to drift away.

“Had I not known you before, Camilla.” The formality now has been replaced with tenderness saved only for his most beloved as he moves to the process of the removal of his complicated armor. “You would have fooled me with those sweet lying words.”

“My mother would have considered me a failure if she found out I could not lie to the Crown Prince of Hoshido.” The laugh lacking humor is bitter upon her tongue and the twirl of a lock of lavender only deepens the frown that now twists her mouth. Much a reminder of her mother no matter how much she is fond of her long curls that flatter with each step.

“You have never mentioned your mother before.” Ryoma only emerges from a screen protected area once he has dressed himself in the simplest of his clothing and his the wild tresses of his hair no longer bound with the intricate headpiece that accompanies his armor. There is no hesitation in his movements to join her on the edge of the cot, no reactions drawn from either as their thighs meld in the touches of closeness. 

He knows well of the monster of her father but not a word of her mother.

“She does not come often into my thoughts.” Her expression is a balance between a smile cynical with the experiences of her life and pain crashing into her head in waves. It is enough for her to be drawn into the arms of Ryoma, head taking refuge upon his shoulder. “Not very often except for this day.”“Is her loss the cause of your bothers?” It is an inquiry from the purity of his heart and Camilla cannot help the laugh that parts her lips, it is a laugh wrought with pain and cynicism.

Though the royalty of Hoshido had lived with the murder of their father, the reality of their childhood was very much idyllic, lacking the taint of bloodshed and conflict that was the normalcy of the Nohrian court.

“You’re very inquisitive, darling.” She now wears a smile darkened with the memories of her childhood, all the terrible things that have been wrought upon her. Even so, her fingers come to ever gently trace the jawline of Ryoma, genuine affection in each and every touch, knowing she is truly beloved by him.

Unlike the lies fed to her by her mother, the superficial words of love only gifted to her once she had made progress in a task or another. One such task being the procuring of an herb so toxic that it kills within a day, and an ingredient important in many recipes for poison.

“I did lose my mother on this day.” She confirms with a touch too light, as if she has taken joy in the fact that her mother has passed on from the world of the living.

“I am so sorry.” The solemnity of his words are felt at the softness of her temple, his lips pressed against her head and arms bounding her to him, protective and intended for comfort. She has come to know Ryoma as being the opposite of her, truthful and genuine in all of the words that com from him. With a sting of her heart, Camilla comes to wonder if he’ll remove his arms from her like the burning of a flame when she reveals the truth. His honor would compel him to do so, wouldn’t it? “I know very much what is like to lose a parent. I am here for you if you require anything.”

Camilla swears she feels the tears build at her eyes, even if she has always known of the truth that she has never been deserving of such a man of honor. Perhaps her denial had evolved because she desired to savor happiness with another for once.

“Executed.” The singular word is enough to pull her into the memories that haunt her on this day of each year, the first time she had raised her axe not against an enemy but family. Well, her mother had been made an enemy by her father, once her father had her complicit in the pilot that had snuffed out the life of little Mathilde, the only other child of the beloved queen and the only full sibling of Xander. Garon had thought it best to rid the world of the conniving vileness of Lady Hekate through her own tool for ambition, Camilla herself.

Perhaps the preferred child of Hekate, Casimir, would have been chosen to say her had he already fallen victim to the blade of yet another princeling. Another brother whose name is forgotten to her because his life too was snuffed out.

“You do not have to continue. Don’t bring any more pain upon yourself.” His voice is as heavy with pain as ever, face pressing into her curls of lavender that serve as a great contrast to his own darkness. Perhaps it is his own grief that resurfaces, of the belief that they had their mothers stolen away in the same manner.

“By my own hand.” She peers to her hand which is now clean without a flaw to be observe though she once more feels the dried blood that had crusted her hands for hours afterwards, the blood of her mother that she had spilled herself. “I was twelve years old and my father desired revenge.”

She knows not if she’ll ever admit it, but she had thirsted revenge in those very few moments before the axe met skin, bone, and blood. Little Mathilde had been a girl of seven summers, gentle in her disposition and her smiles always sunshine to those that saw her, she had even been beloved by Garon, whose heart was ever hardening through the years. She’d not only wished for revenge for Mathilde but for herself. For the innocence of childhood lost to the desires of a mother with only a throne in her sight. For threatening her with her own death if she did not slip poison into that unnamed prince’s drink for Casimir’s seemingly unjustified death.

For transforming her into what she is.

Camilla feels the sudden freezing of Ryoma’s movements against her and it is a reaction she has long expected to derive from her admission. A man of his high honor could have never accepted a woman like her, so steeped in death and blood from the moments of her childhood. She supposes that she had let herself become too accustomed to a dream that was never meant for her and that in truth, she’s only meant to be with the ghosts of her past. Forever haunted.

It is the violence of the shaking that draws Camilla from the depths of her own misery and a wetness budding atop her head where Ryoma had positioned his chin in his comfort of her. She feels an arm removed from her, the sudden coolness chilling her to the bone, though not quite as much as the convulsions of his body.

“Ryoma, darling.” With all too much ease does she wipe away her own grief, immediate focus upon Ryoma, whose expression of vulnerability is an utterly foreign concept to her. The preparation for this reaction had never taken her mind.

“How… How could someone do this to their own child?” His sentence is a lacing of stumbling words, the furthest removal from the the inspiration to his army. Although very human. The sobs seize his chest though he has come to manage the tears. 

Camilla cannot quite read the complexity of emotions that have painted themselves upon his features, a grief and sympathy unknown to her and a rage that burns darkly in his eyes. Again she is drawn into his arms with a ferocity that had not been present before, the comfort provided quick to overlap her shock.

“You had to suffer so much that young….” His voice has descended into weak murmurs, further quieted by his mouth pressing into her hair. “I never realized that your parents were so cruel. No child ever deserves that.”

“So…” Even in these moments is Camilla reluctant to return his embrace, ever slow in her movements to bring her arms around him, each finger curling into the spiked tresses of his hair. “After all of that, you’ll still love a killer like me?”

It seems a struggle for Ryoma to draw even another breath and though the shaking as calmed, it is still a trait quite noticed by her. In a manner of gentleness does he grasp her face with his fingers, his calloused fingers rough against the soft curve of her cheeks. The tears forming unknowingly to hear wiped away with quickness of his fingers.

“You were but a child, faced with the choice of kill or be killed.” He continues. “I promise to build memories of a better future where we will all live in peace, without violence and bloodshed. I promise to be at your side and love you always. It’s too late to change that, Nohrian princess.”


End file.
